


How I Met Your Wizard

by guineamania



Series: Birdbrain [15]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, M/M, idiots flirting, light stabbing, meet cute, pre-SHIELD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 23:30:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20479256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guineamania/pseuds/guineamania
Summary: Clint hated Phil Coulson. The man had charm that Clint just couldn't say no to. And that is how he found himself bleeding out in a strange British doctor's car.





	How I Met Your Wizard

**Author's Note:**

> So soon! I know I shocked myself too.  
Some fluff after the mess in the last edition.  
In this verse the timeline works as follows:  
War finished - 2000  
Met Clint - 2003  
Engaged - 2006  
Married - 2008  
Avengers 1 - 2012  
Avengers 2 - 2014  
Hogwarts Party - 2015  
Civil War - early 2016  
Homecoming - late 2016  
Infinity War - 2018  
Endgame - 2023

** _February 2003_ **

Clint Barton wasn’t the type to be able to hold down a long term job. It came with the territory of being a deaf circus orphan whose only skill was an unerring accuracy. Leaving the circus and moving to New York was the best decision he had ever made but holding up a rickety studio apartment in Hell’s Kitchen wasn’t what he had planned for his life. “Mr Barton,” Clint slowly looked up from his coffee to see the scourge of his peaceful downtime settling into the chair across from him. Phil Coulson placed a file on the table and smiled at the tired archer.

“It’s a no Phil, I’ve just got off a twelve hour shift at the bar and I want to just drink my coffee and then go back to my crappy apartment is that too much to ask?” Clint sighed, pushing the file back towards Phil.

“It wouldn’t have to be this way if you took the full-time job offer. You are remarkably talented and SHIELD needs someone like you,” it was the usual speech. Phil had hunted down Clint after the fiasco with Barney and had made the same offer then. Three years later and a few emergency missions to earn a little extra cash, the pitch was still the same.

“I left the life. I’m trying to turn it around,” Clint argued but Phil continued to smile.

“We just need someone to help acquire an object and feel that your skills would be useful. We will of course reimburse your time at the usual rate,” Phil pushed the file closer and this time Clint didn’t protest. He could really do with restocking his freezer and a couple of new shirts for work. Phil had never lead him wrong and he was a damn good thief.

“Only this one, one object in and out,” Clint sighed and opened the file.

The world was spinning. This was both in the scientific sense that the earth was on an orbit, and also in the sense that Clint’s eyes were unable to focus on where he was putting his feet. The object Phil wanted was a piece of a meteorite that had been bought by a reclusive millionaire in Brooklyn. Little did they know that the millionaire was also a paranoid conspiracy theorist who had hired a small militia to protect the stone. Clint chuckled deliriously as he hobbled through the alleyways towards his apartment, were you able to call someone paranoid that the government wanted to rob them when the government was trying to steal from them? At that point are they just correct? Clint continued to hobble. He had handed off the meteor at the drop off point and needed to get back to his apartment to drop off the weapons before people got anymore suspicious. Clint slowly moved his hand from his abdomen as black spots begun to cloud his vision. The blood wasn’t slowing. A change of plan was needed, plan B; Clint slumped up against the nearest surface. He wasn’t making it all the way to his apartment with a stab wound through his gut. A lucky shot from a hidden agent with a dagger, and the mighty Clint Barton was going to have to make it to the nearest hospital and lie through his teeth. His jacket, burner phone and weapons were thrown into the nearest dumpster before Clint took a minute to compose himself. Stepping out of the alley, Clint wobbled on trembling legs but managed to keep moving. A&E wasn’t too far away, he couldn’t afford an ambulance. He couldn’t afford any treatment, but he could badger Phil into paying for it. It was the government’s fault he was in this mess anyway. “Mate, you okay?” Clint startled at a hand gripping him by the elbow, he should have heard the person coming but he couldn’t hear anything over the pounding of blood in his ears. One of his hearing aids also seemed to be letting out a shrill buzz too which was not helping the pounding. “You’re bleeding pretty heavily I’ll get you to the hospital,” the voice continued, gently leading Clint towards a car left haphazardly at the side of the road.

“I was attacked, I,” Clint stammered out, the innocent bystander act falling out of him easily.

“Don’t worry, I’m a doctor. I need you to hold this against your side and breath okay,” the voice was coming from an enchanting green eyed Brit. His helper was shorter than Clint, which took a bit of doing, and had black hair closely cropped containing a bunch of tightly wound curls on top. His face was scarred with a burn mark creeping up his neck and a transfixing lightning bolt scar creeping from his hair line towards his eyebrow. “You still with me there mate?” Clint’s eyes swam back into focus seeming the man looking at him with concern. They were resting against the car with a towel pressed against Clint’s wound.

“Yeah, yeah. In the car,” Clint stammered and with a wince shuffled into the passenger seat.

“Cool yeah we’re not far and I’ll rush you through. It doesn’t look too bad as long as we get some fluids into you and that hole patched up,” he narrated as they pulled away and into the nearly empty streets.

“I’m Clint,” Clint was bleeding all over this man’s car, the least he could do was introduce himself.

“Pleasure, I’m Harry.”

The A&E doctors were worried about a puncture to some organ or other so, after confirmation that SHIELD was paying for his treatment, Clint had to stay in for observation. “Fancy seeing you here,” the grumpy archer was stirred out of his thoughts by a familiar face poking round the curtains.

“Harry,” Clint couldn’t stop himself smiling at the new arrival. Harry looked a little worse for wear with his jacket sleeves rolled up exposing criminally toned forearms. Bags hung under his eyes and his hair had slumped down. He just let off a tired aura.

“Finished my shift and had a couple of hours before the next one so thought I would drop in to see how you were doing,” Harry’s lips twitched into a smile. It was a poor take on the health system to see someone taking on so many back to back shifts.

“I’m good, they got me on the best stuff and this place is more comfortable than my apartment,” Clint blurted out, the drugs were really good and doing a number on him.

“I was hoping that they might be letting you go soon but a few more hours unfortunately,” Harry perched on the end of the bed and once again Clint was drawn into his eyes.

“Unfortunately?” Clint questioned, his eyebrow arched with curiosity.

“I’m new in town and thought I could ask for a tour,” now Clint was not book smart but he could read people, this was bad flirting. A hot British doctor was flirting badly with him Clint Barton, notorious hot mess.

“Is that your best move?” Clint asked, his smile growing at the blush which spread from Harry’s cheeks.

“I haven’t done this a lot, I’m not great with people and this job doesn’t leave a lot of room for meet cutes,” Harry carried on, tracing a spiral pattern on his own leg as he spoke.

“I guess you have to take advantage of all the hot bleeding men in your car,” Clint retorted, it felt so natural and his skin tingled at the sound of Harry’s laugh.

“Exactly!” he laughed.

“When you get off shift give me a call. I might need medical attention you know,” Clint grabbed a pen and reached out for Harry’s right hand. Harry ripped his hand backwards with a startling move that instantly made Clint think he had crossed a line.

“Sorry, my left, my left is better,” Harry stammered, the red flush spreading as he presented his left hand to Clint who scribbled down his number with a little heart at the end.

“Make sure you use it hotshot,” Clint winked as Harry stood.

“Sure will, you owe me a towel,” was the parting comment from Harry.


End file.
